How to Save A Life
by BrainySmurf6
Summary: Lance Sweets had never been a foster child. He had never been whipped, or punched, or thrown against a wall. And Lance Sweets had never met Temperance Brennan until her first therapy session. But Lance Bennett was another story. Mayhem/past oneshot.


_**A/N: Okay, so I'm working on Beauty and the Tragedy…as I've said, I'm pretty busy and time is scarce. But I got my Season Four DVDs today and took some quality time with those…so after watching Mayhem on the Cross (one of my all time faves) I was musing over Sweets' background and Brennan's background, and somehow it all fused together so…here is this oneshot, written while I watched other Season Four favs, based on a coincidence only possible in fanfic world.**_

_How to Save a Life_

Lance Sweets had never been a foster child.

He had never been whipped, or punched, or thrown against a wall. Lance Sweets had never known anything other than a loving family environment. And Lance Sweets had never met Temperance Brennan until the day she and her partner had their first therapy session.

But Lance Bennett was a different story.

But when Lance Bennett was six years old, he'd left behind his life in the system. A couple of signatures on some adoption papers, and Lance Bennett, foster kid who mattered to no one, became Lance Sweets, upper middle class only child whose parents gave him whatever he needed and then some.

The only connections Sweets had to Lance Bennett were his disjointed memories of those first six years of his life, and the angry scars on his back, the ones that wouldn't let him forget his life hadn't started out so charmed.

* * * * * *

Normally, Sweets would have jumped at the chance to observe Booth and Brennan in a social situation, especially in the company of the legendary Dr. Wyatt. But throughout the dinner, all Sweets could think about was how anxious he was to leave.

The truth was, he was having trouble looking Brennan in the eye. Her words from earlier were replaying incessantly in his mind.

_My foster parents locked me in the trunk of a car for two days, when I broke a dish…I still don't think it was fair, even though they gave me fair warning…the water was so hot…_

He knew why she'd told them, even though it was so uncharacteristic of the anthropologist to willingly divulge information about her past. She'd done it for him, to let him know he wasn't the only one with a painful past.

But he'd already known that. It had been merely a coincidence that she'd chosen a memory, from the dozens of others, that he hadn't been aware of.

And now, while Gordon Gordon regaled them with amusing tales from his apparent music career, and Booth intermittently shot covert, concerned glances at his partner (who was, incidentally, doing the same to him), Sweets was staring fixedly at his plate, stomach twisted in guilt, both for what he hadn't told her now and what he hadn't been able to do back then.

* * * * * *

He was placed with Joe and Dina Carpenter a month before his sixth birthday. He was their first foster child.

He learned things quickly. He learned the many unstated rules. No asking questions. Don't get in the way. Don't sit in Joe's chair. Don't turn on the television when one of them might want to watch it. Don't make noise. Eat everything on your plate. Don't complain. Don't lock your door.

Lance also learned that no matter how carefully he worked to follow these rules, there was no way to avoid the beatings Joe liked to dole out.

For weeks, he was the only target Joe Carpenter had. Then, the day before his sixth birthday (which he knew would go unnoticed), a Saturday, she moved in

Temperance was sixteen years old, and she had been in the system for only a year. He crouched behind a couch and watched her move her few things in as her social worker talked to Dina and Joe. Temperance was tall and pretty and, to Lance, she seemed much older, old enough that Joe would not be able to punish her the way they punished him.

When Dina came behind the couch and pulled his arm up, she led him into the foyer to make the expected introduction. "Temperance, this is Lance. He's been with us for about a month."

He smiled shyly at her. "Hi."

She barely nodded, not looking at him or anyone else.

Her social worker smiled brightly, the way they were apt to do. "I'm sure you'll adjust just fine, Temperance."

Free of his obligation, Lance scampered off again.

He watched her all through dinner with avid interest; she was almost completely silent. Dina was putting on the fake nice act she'd used on him his first day, constantly offering more food and asking her questions. Each time, Temperance responded with a muttered, "No, ma'am."

Because of the first night show, there were no incidents. Temperance disappeared into her bedroom after dinner.

Lance took one of the books from under his bed into the hallway, sitting against the wall, eyeing her room, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. After an hour of waiting, she still didn't appear, and Lance approached her door, gingerly turning the knob; it was locked.

The boy began to pound on the door, and after much longer than it would have taken to just walk to the door, she appeared, looking irritated. "What?"

"You can't lock your door," he informed her solemnly.

She raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"It's not allowed. They get mad."

She started to close it. "I don't care about them…"

Lance pushed up his sleeve, showing her the purple bruises from Joe's hand wrapped around his arm. Temperance froze. "It's not fun when they're mad," he said quietly.

She looked down at him, uncertain. "They did that to you."

He nodded. "This, too." He lifted up his shirt, where more bruises and cuts covered his stomach and ribcage.

After a long silence, Temperance nodded. "I won't lock the door."

"Can I come in?" Lance asked hopefully.

She hesitated, then shook her head. "Go play somewhere else, alright?"

* * * * * *

That night, Lance saw Joe go into Temperance's room. He waited for some sort of noise, but for awhile it was quiet; then Temperance started to yell, her voice panicked and tearful.

"Please, don't….please…stop….no…."

As soon as the screaming started, it stopped, but Joe didn't come out. Lance stood and ran into his own room, the door slamming behind him.

Later that night, long after Joe's footsteps retreated down the stairs, Lance could hear Temperance in the next room, crying quietly.

* * * * * *

"Aaaah!" Temperance stumbled backwards, tensing automatically.

"Sorry," Lance said earnestly. He was sitting in the floor of the closet with his flashlight, reading one of his books. "I hide here sometimes."

Temperance didn't ask who he was hiding from. It was only her second day there, and she already knew.

She started to walk away, but caught a glimpse of the book in his lap. "You're reading _Oliver Twist?" _He nodded. "How old are you?"

"Six," he told her proudly, the first time he'd said it. "Six years old today

"Happy birthday," she said automatically.

"I can read it," Lance told her, defensively. He was used to skepticism. The older foster kids at his last home had taken his books, scoffing, "You can't read these." before throwing them in the toilet or into the street. "I can read a lot of big books. With chapters and everything."

"That's nice," she said mildly. "Although English isn't a particularly useful subject, reading's a good leisure activity."

Lance smiled brightly. He didn't understand some of what she said, but he liked that she didn't talk to him like a little kid.

"I know a lot about dinosaurs, too," he told her eagerly. "My favorites the T-Rex. My kindergarten class went to a museum to see a real T-Rex skeleton. It had about a thousand huuuge bones."

"Actually, the T-Rex probably has around the same number of bones as a human has. We don't know for certain because a complete skeleton hasn't been found. Their bones are much bigger of course."

Lance stared up at her. "How many bones does a human have?"

"An adult human has 206 bones." Temperance started to walk away, and Lance scrambled up, trailing behind her. He had officially decided she was the smartest person he'd ever met, even more than his teacher.

"Wanna see a picture of the T-rex skeleton?"

"Not particularly. I've seen one before."

"But I have a whole book full. And stegosauruses and brontosauruses and a bunch of other ones."

Temperance stopped, sighing, clearly realizing she wasn't going to get rid of him. "Alright, sure."

The boy led the way to his room, dropping on his knees on the carpet and rummaging under his bed, scooping out dozens of books.

Temperance's eyes widened. "Did they let you bring all these with you?"

Lance flushed slightly. "No…"

"Where did you get them?"

"They're from the school library," he admitted. "The kindergartners aren't allowed to check books out, so…"

"You stole books?"

"I put them back," he assured her. "Or I will. The only books we have in the classroom are for babies."

Temperance bit back a smile. "I suppose there are worse things you could be doing."

His eyes widened suddenly. "Please don't tell. One time my teacher called here to tell Dina I was talking a lot in class, and Joe got out the whip."

"They _whipped_ you?"

Lance turned obligingly and stretched his sweatshirt so she could see the marks on his shoulder blades. Turning back around, he noticed Temperance looked rather pale. "Don't worry," he assured her. "They only use those if you're really, really bad."

Temperance stared at him for a long moment, then said quietly, "You said it's your birthday?"

"Yep," he answered proudly. "November the fourteenth."

She smiled a little, the first time he'd seen it. "I have a gift you might like."

Excited, Lance followed her into her bedroom; the garbage bags they had to transport their stuff in still packed and lying on the floor.

Temperance rummaged in the bag and pulled out a large textbook that said "Biology" on the cover. She held in her hands for a moment, then handed it to him. "Chapter Four is all about dinosaurs."

Lance stared wonderingly down at it. "Is this for your school?"

"My old school," she told him. "You aren't the only one who sometimes takes books, I guess."

"And I can really have it?"

"Sure," she told him. "I already know everything in it, anyway."

His grin stretched the width of his face. "Thanks!"

"Well, happy birthday."

The door flew open then, and Joe was standing there. He pinned his gaze on Lance. "Why are you in here?"

The book fell from his hands and Lance leaped up. "I was just…"

Joe jerked his arm and threw him back on the floor. "You should be setting the table. Go."

Lance stumbled out of the room, but he hesitated in the hallway, looking back over his shoulder.

"…supposed to unpack all your shit?" Joe sneered, kicking the garbage bags. "You think I'm going to do it for you?" He backhanded her across the face, and this time Temperance didn't scream.

* * * * * *

For the next few month, Lance followed Brennan around like a puppy. He thought she was the smartest, prettiest person he'd ever met, and he loved the way she talked to him with an adult, even if sometimes he didn't understand half of what she was saying.

When he got off the bus in the afternoon, Lance would stay in the yard for the half hour between the elementary school and high school buses, so he could walk in the house with her. He would go to her room and sit on the floor, reading, while she did her homework. And when he finished his own chores, he followed her around, helping with hers.

Temperance indulged him. She didn't assume any sort of maternal, protective role over the kid, but she let him assume the role as her constant companion. She answered his questions, sometimes going off on tangents bordering on lectures. Lance took it all in.

The physical abuse continued. Temperance being there didn't make a difference and, unlike his original assumption, her age, or gender, didn't make her less susceptible to Joe's lashing out.

The only difference, really, was that Lance was rarely sought out at night. He usually heard Joe go into Temperance's bedroom in the evening, although after that first night, he could never hear a sound coming from the room.

One Saturday when Joe had to work, Temperance emerged from the den (where Dina spent most of her time, parked in front of the television watching soaps), her backpack on her shoulder.

"Tempe?" Lance skidded into the room. "Where are you going?"

"To the library, to study."

"Can I go?"

Temperance sighed. "Lance, you'll be bored. I have a lot of work to get done. And we have to walk."

"Please? I'll just sit at the table and read a book. And I can walk fast."

"Fine, alright. Go tell Dina."

Soon, they were entering the large public library, which was quiet and largely empty. Brennan weaved her way through some small rooms crowded with shelves until they reached a larger room, tables lined in the middle, shelves surrounding the perimeter.

"I'm not walking you to the children's room," Temperance warned him.

Lance stuck out his chin defiantly. "I don't want to go to the children's room. I can read what you read."

She shrugged. "Alright."

She opened up an advanced calculus book and a spiral bound notebook, setting to work. Lance glanced around at the tall shelves, all full of intimidating, thick books. He was starting to wish he'd brought one of his own books.

He got up and walked over to the nearest shelf. None of the titles meant much to him, so after a moment he padded back to the table, asking tentatively, "Tempe?"

Rolling her eyes, she looked over at him. "Yes?"

"Do they have chapter books here? Not little kid books but…like for people your age. Or maybe middle schoolers."

"There are young adult books…in the children's room."

Nodding, Lance wandered off, weaving in and out of the confusing layout of rooms for a good five minutes before he ended up back in the same place. "Tempe?"

Not looking up from her book, Temperance asked, "What is it, Lance?"

"Can you show me?"

She sighed, then stood. "Fine…"

"Thank you!" He followed her through the library into an attached wing, where there was a large childrens room. She pointed out the middle shelves. "I think those are chapter books."

He looked up at her. "Can you wait 'til I pick one?"

"_Lance_..."

"I'll be quick, I promise! I wanna make sure I can get back."

Lance moved between the shelves, eyes roaming the books. Temperance stayed behind him, sighing audibly.

"What's a good one?"

"I don't know, just pick…"

"Need some help dears?" A voice interrupted them; a librarian had come up behind them and was smiling down at Lance.

"I'm looking for a book," Lance informed her.

She chuckled. "What kind of book, sweetie?"

Temperance grabbed something and thrust it in Lance's hands. "Here, read this, it used to be one of my favorites. Now let's go."

The librarian instantly plucked the book, _The Giver_, from his hands. "That's actually a little advanced for you, hon."

"I can do it," Lance retorted defensively.

"It's a _sixth _grade reading level…"

Before he could protest, Brennan said coolly, "He reads on a sixth grade level. At least." The librarian blinked at her. "He's very smart."

Lance felt himself blushing, and he beamed up at her. The librarian shrugged, handing him back the book.

Not noticing the smile the boy was giving her, Brennan put a hand on his back and guided him out of the aisle. "Great, let's go."

When they were halfway back to their table, Lance tilted his head to look up at her. "You really think I'm smart?"

"Of course you are. Your reading skills are very advanced in your age, and you have a good memory for the various facts I've taught you. You aren't as intelligent as I am of course, but you are far more intelligent than the average person."

He grinned, pleased. "Really?"

"Really. You could go on to a fairly respectable career someday, Lance."

"College and everything?"

They settled down at the table. "Of course college."

"Tempe? When do you go to college?"

She began to work again, her voice distracted, "In another year."

"Is it free?"

She sighed. "Not usually, but I'll most likely receive an academic scholarship." She glanced up. "You could too, someday."

"And you're really gonna be an…antropologist?"

"An_thr_opologist, and yes. Read your book, Lance, I have to get some work done….and you know we have to be back on time."

* * * * * *

There were times she didn't want him around. Once he went into her room to find her holding a towel to a bloody nose, three angry red scratch marks on her neck, and she yelled at him to get out. Anytime they went after her, Lance knew enough to back off.

For him, it was the opposite. The only time she came seeking him out was after Joe hurt him. She never mentioned it, didn't give him any sort of reassurances or speeches about getting through it. Instead, she would find him and sit down, as though it was any other moment, and ask him about a book he was reading or start to tell him her latest facts.

If they threw him out in the yard as punishment, she'd come with him. If they lost him in a closet, Temperance would sit outside it and talk to him until they came back. If they made him go without dinner, she saved him food. If they caught him with a book and took it away, she would come home from school the next day and hand him a new one.

Her social worker came several times in those first two months, as was more common early on in a new placement. Every time, Lance hovered somewhere out of sight, watching, secretly terrified that the woman would notice the bruises on Temperance, or even just the way she tensed up around Joe. He was terrified of what would happen if she left before him.

Then, one day, after Temperance had been there two and a half months, he was looking for her after dinner. He went to her bedroom door and flung it open. "Tempe?"

He stomach dropped.

Joe was lying on top of he, his pants hooked around his ankles. He was thrusting, on top of her, and it all looked uncomfortable.

And Temperance…she wasn't moving at all. Her eyes were closed, her head turned from the side, face utterly blank.

He felt dizzy and nauseous. He didn't know what was happening, but for some reason it was worse than watching the beating.

Lance wanted to run but his legs felt like lead. So he stood, immobile, until Joe glanced over and saw him. "BOY!" he roared, reaching for the closest object to hurl, the lamp on the bedside table. It crashed to the floor inches in front of Lance, but it was enough to propel him out and the room and down the stairs as fast as he could.

Moments later, he heard the thundering footsteps following him down the stairs, and Lance ran into the kitchen, looking for a place to hide.

He wasn't fast enough; soon Joe's fist collided with his face and Lance crumpled to the ground.

Lance was sobbing. He was curled in a ball on the ground, his nose and lip bleeding as he curled his hands around his head protectively. Joe's hands were ripping at his shirt, trying to pull it over his head but failing. He knew what that meant.

There was the rip of fabric, and then the fiery sting of the whip against his back. Lance howled in pain, and Joe grunted out directives to 'be a man'.

_Crack_. Again, against his left shoulder blade, over top of previous scars. His stomach lurched violently and Lance screamed.

Then there was another sound, apart from his gulping sobs and Joe's bellows and the crack of the whip.

"Stop it!"

He turned; Temperance had seized Joe's arm, the one brandishing the whip and was pulling at it.

"Stop it, he didn't know, he didn't know what he was doing-"

"Stay out of it!" Joe jerked form her grip, swinging his arm so the whip slashed against her cheek, causing Temperance to cry out, and leaving an angry red gash behind.

He slung it again, this time across her bare legs, then he lifted a foot and kicked her, hard in the stomach, sending Temperance falling back.

Satisfied, Joe turned his attention back to Lance, still cowering on the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, his vision blurred with tears, Lance saw Temperance pull herself up and hurtle herself at Joe's legs.

The surprise, more than the impact, made the man fall. Temperance jumped up, her eyes wild, and then pulled Lance to his feet. "Run!"

They ran upstairs, stopping outside his room. Temperance bent down so she could look him in the eye. Her cheek was bleeding. "What's your social worker's name?"

His voice quivering, he answered, "Annie."

"Annie what?"

"Annie Carbridge."

"Okay. Lance, I need you to trust me, okay? I need you to go into your bedroom. And lock the door, alright?"

"But-"

"I know it's against the rules, but you have to listen to me. Just stay in there for awhile, okay?"

He nodded mutely.

"And don't clean up your face, okay? I know it's disgusting, but you have to leave the blood for now."

Lance nodded again.

"Okay. Is there a telephone anywhere up here?"

* * * * * *

Lance wasn't sure how long he waited in the room; the blood drying on his face. He couldn't stop trembling.

After awhile, he glanced out the window and saw her in the backyard huddled on a flimsy lawn chair. It was winter, and cold. Throwing them out into the yard for hours at a time was a common practice.

Lance pried open his window, waving to get her attention, and then dropped the blanket from his bed down onto the small deck for her. She smiled up at him, grateful.

Nearly an hour later, there was a knock on his door. Lance stiffened, uncertain of what to do. Then, a voice that belonged to neither Joe or Dina floated through.

"Lance? It's Annie, open the door, bud."

* * * * * *

It didn't take long for him to pack his things. He piled the books in the bottom of a garbage bag and covered them with clothes.

The Carpenters' excuse, that he'd been fighting at school, was supposedly accepted. But Annie's mouth was a tight, thin line as she told him to pack his things immediately.

Years later he never understood why it had happened that way. His social worker had never reported or launched an investigation; she'd only gotten him out of the situation. He supposed it was just easier, but it still seemed wrong for him to escape when she couldn't.

* * * * * *

He'd always secretly prayed that he'd be the one to get moved first. The thought of going back to the way it was before, alone with the Carpenters, had seemed too horrible to contemplate.

But he still felt sick to his stomach as he followed Annie to her car.

Halfway down the sidewalk, he glanced back and saw Temperance standing at the fence to the backyard, watching him.

He abruptly spun on his heel and hurtled toward the backyard, flinging the gate open and slammed into her, burying his face against her stomach.

He was crying hard enough to be embarrassed, and her arms went around him, the only time she'd ever done that.

She touched the back of his head gently and tilted it back so he was looking up at her. "Hey…it's alright. This is a good thing."

He sniveled messily, swiping the back of his hand against his nose and cheeks. "Can't _you_ come?"

"No," she answered simply. "I can't. You're gonna be fine. Better than fine. You'll be great."

"What are they gonna do to you?" he whispered.

"Let me worry about that. I won't be here for much longer. I'll be fine." She smiled. "And the next place you go you'll get to be the smartest kid in the house."

"Lance, come on," Annie called from the edge of the road.

He threw his arms around her waist one more time, clinging. "I love you," he said, muffled against her stomach, only because it was the first time in his life he'd been able to really use the words.

She nodded at him, her eyes suddenly filled with tears, her mouth trembling as tried to smile and pushed him gently toward the car.

Lance walked back slowly, still sniffling loudly as he caught up with Annie. He wanted to beg her to take Temperance, too, to do something, but Tempe had said she couldn't come. And Tempe was the smartest person he knew.

So he was quiet as he got in the car and Annie drove him away from the Carpenters, from Temperance, to the home where Graham and Hannah Sweets lived, the people who, in a month, would officially become his parents.

* * * * * *

Sweets remembered little about most of his foster homes. It was understandable…formative memory didn't really become long term until about age four. And even then it was often fragmented and mixed together.

But he remembered those months at the Carpenters, even though there were times he'd wished he'd been able to repress them. He remembered being Lance Bennett. And he remembered Temperance Brennan.

When he was older, and he'd been able to really work out what had happened that day, it made him nearly sick with guilt. He'd seen her being raped by their foster father, something that he could now discern had happened often, most nights even. And she'd had _him_ rescued, taken away and sent, though she'd had no way of knowing it, to the people who would become his family.

Sweets knew he'd been only six years old. He knew he hadn't had a firm grasp of the situation around him. He knew there was nothing he could have done.

But it didn't stop him from hating that he got away when she hadn't.

For years he'd wandered what happened to her. He'd wanted to think she got out soon after him, moved to a better family, eventually went on to college like she'd expected. But he'd known there was a chance that something had happened to her, something much worse than all that, maybe even as a direct result of what had happened the day of his move.

Then, when he got his job at the FBI, one of his first assignments for partners therapy was an Agent Seeley Booth and Dr. Temperance Brennan, the forensic anthropologist.

"Temperance Brennan…" he said, turning the name over. For a few seconds, he couldn't place it, but his pulse quickened anyway, as though he could remember the significance even if he couldn't place the person. Then, "Oh my God…"

"Yeah, that's _the_ Temperance Brennan alright. I love those books." The guy who'd handed him the folder commented.

Sweets had just completed two doctorates at age twenty-two. He had no idea what books this guy was talking about; for the past five years, he'd been vastly removed from any and all non-psychology culture.

He'd retreated to his new office and ripped into the psychological profile the FBI had provided, something they'd had to do when she first began working for them. He could barely allow himself to believe it.

But there it was, in her history: three years in the foster care system

Sweets knew, ethically, he probably should have passed the pair along to someone else. But he had to see her. Over the years, Temperance Brennan had assumed the role of the most important person from Sweets' time in the system. She'd given him his first, messy concept of family. She'd been the first person to stick up for him. And she'd been the person who saved him, who gave him his life.

During their first session, when the partners walked in, Sweets hadn't been able to think of something to say. It was undoubtedly her; he remembered those eyes even if the rest of the image of her sixteen year old self was a little blurred.

He'd introduced himself when he found his voice, and it came out strangled (_Voice still changing there, kiddo?_ Her partner had remarked gleefully). Sweets felt a tiny flicker of disappointment when her eyes didn't immediately widen in recognition, but then, with a jolt, he realized she knew him by a different name and wouldn't make the connection.

This flustered him; Sweets had sort of assumed her realization would spark the conversation, but now he was faced with the task of telling her. And what if she didn't remember him at all? Or if she just said "Oh, okay." There was, after all, a good chance the three months they spent in the Carpenters hadn't been as significant to her as it had been to him.

Or what if she hadn't told her partner about her past? And he brought it up in front of him, and then Sweets would be left with mostly anger?

He was suddenly beyond nervous, and the age jokes her partner kept cracking didn't help ease his nerves, so he ended up orchestrating a ridiculous trust exercise that only served to further the partners union against him.

The first time she spoke directly to him, it was countering her partner's jokes. "I don't care how young you are." And then Sweets was beaming, remembering her telling off a librarian about how yes, he could read sixth grade level books.

But then she followed it up. "I've never believed in psychotherapy."

And it was ridiculous, the disappointment that swelled in him. He understood that sentiment; she'd had a tough experience, more so than him. Sweets had been born into the system and rescued; she'd been thrown into it and had to get herself out. And, according to the information he'd had about why she and her partner were in therapy, it turned out her father hadn't been dead; just a criminal.

People like that, intelligent and hurt by their past, tended to shy away from feelings, hiding vulnerability and fear under a layer of rationale. He understood that.

But she had been the first person to tell him he was smart enough to make something out of himself, something that had become obvious as he sped through school but until he was six years old, he'd never known.

He'd lost all nerve and had proceeded with the session as usual.

And as they continued, he kept losing his nerve. At the same time, he got more and more intrigued by her relationship with Agent Booth.

What It all amounted to, really, was Sweets never told her. Half was fear, and half was his interest. He didn't want to lose her and Booth, the ability to study their partnership.

* * * * * *

She'd seen the scars on his back. The scars that, unbeknownst to her, she'd seen years and years ago, either newly formed or still raw (from that last day with the Carpenters).

She'd seen them, and she'd come to him with her own story, a story he didn't know.

She'd done that for _him_. For Lance Sweets, the psychologist she apparently loved to argue with and patronize. But she cared enough to chip away at those walls, the walls usually only Booth got to peek behind. Booth's confession, that had been all for her, but hers…it had been to make him feel better.

_Him_. Lance Sweets, not Lance Bennett, the six year old prodigy who of _course_ had easily earned sympathy and affection.

And it meant a lot.

And it made him feel guilty as hell.

Because she'd offered that, and it had clearly been a major thing for her, to offer up that piece of herself that had been hidden away for so long. And all the while she had no idea that Sweets knew more about her foster care experience than he suspected even Booth knew. He'd seen her being beaten and whipped and raped.

And now he had this new story. Locked in the trunk of the car for two days…it sounded like the Carpenters and their 'unique' brands of punishment. And she'd broken a dish…it had always been her job to was the dishes, and the one time she did it before had resulted in one of those physical beatings that meant he needed to stay away from her for hours after.

After dinner, they sat around Booth's living room, still listening to Gordon Gordon's narratives and talking. Sweets was quiet. He was wrestling with a guilty conscience, and a few times he caught Brennan looking at him searchingly.

He didn't want to give away his hurry to leave, so he waited uncomfortably until Gordon Gordon began to say his goodnights. Sweets mumbled thank yous and took his leave as quickly as possible after the older psychologist.

* * * * * *

It had been hanging in the back of Brennan's mind since the metal show, when she'd seen Sweets' back.

Because the thing was, she'd seen marks like that before, raw and pink and bleeding, bad enough to stay etched in her mind.

She'd spent a panicked moment trying to remember Lance's last name, but then come up with Bennett, and she was 99% certain.

On the one hand, it was impossible.

But on the other, he was the right age. Exactly. And he'd been adopted. And his first name.

He'd never given any indication that he recognized her or her name. But then, she wasn't good at reading people. Of course, he'd only been six…there was a very good chance he wouldn't even remember.

She watched him some throughout the evening, trying to picture his facial structure and eyes and hair on a six year old boy.

He wouldn't have known this, but Lance Bennett had played a significant role in her foster care experience. The Carpenters had only been her third home, and it was her first encounter with abuse, her only encounter with rape.

And it had been him, a six year old, who had informed her, on her first day, that if her new foster parents were mean when they were mad. He'd matter of factly shown her bruises covering his body, to prove it.

Temperance had spent the first two foster homes avoiding the array of people. There had been crowds, both times, biological and foster children, a couple of whom were older and harder than she was. She had not been interesting in getting close to anyone.

But the Carpenters house had been so comparatively small. Just the two foster parents and the little boy. She'd thought it would make it easy to keep to herself.

But they'd forced her to interact with them, through the beatings and the orders and the chores and the nighttime visits from Joe. And Lance, from the moment he'd looked at her and informed her that his favorite dinosaur was the T-Rex, she'd been lost.

He was technically her foster brother, and though usually only social workers used the term, she'd never really felt a meaning to that until then. Lance looked up to her, and he wanted to be around her all the time, even if she'd preferred he stayed away. In short, he was a normal little brother, and Brennan had had no experience in being the older sibling figure.

She knew the boy deserved protection, but she had never been sure she was the one to provide it. Yes, he was a six year old child, but in that house, the beatings had been commonplace. It was just the way life with the Carpenters worked. Trying to defend him wouldn't have stopped Joe; it would have only made it worse for her, possibly for both of them.

She had spent a great deal of time at the Carpenters debating with herself over her obligation to Lance. And in spite of the logic and reason behind her decision, guilt had eaten away at her until that day, the day he'd wandered in at the wrong time. Until Joe had rolled off of her, pulling his jeans back up and gone hurtling out of the room, his eyes flashing with a primal rage to replace the sickening lust of moments before.

So she'd ran after them, and she'd done what she could. Seeing him, small even for his age, curled on the floor crying while a whip gashed his shoulder blades, had been the worst thing she'd seen so far. It was easy sometimes, talking to Lance, to forget how young he was; he was an extremely intelligent boy, and life had forced him to mature as well. But lying there on the floor that day, sobbing his heart out, he had looked like what he was: a terrified six year old boy with no way to save himself.

And Brennan had hated herself nearly as much as she hated Joe, for pretending they were the same, for convincing herself she owed him nothing. And then, without any more thought to herself, she'd gotten him away, called his social worker and insisted she come by to check on him; she'd made sure Lance would still be nice and pitiful looking when the woman arrived.

And he'd left. And watching him leave, she'd known she'd done the right thing, finally. She'd known she was in for the punishment of a lifetime that night, and she hadn't cared.

But he'd run back to her, hugging her life she was his lifeline, this little boy who'd never known what he was missing like she did, who'd never had any concept of family to wish for. He'd cried, because he was leaving her, even if it meant he got to leave the psychopaths who beat him regularly. And he'd told her he loved her, because she was the only person to ever try to save him.

And after he drove away, for dozens of reasons, Brennan had sat down in the cold, frosted grass and sobbed.

* * * * * *

Life had been exponentially worse at the Carpenters in the days following Lance's removal. She'd been tied up to her bed for over a day while Joe came in sporadically to do what he wanted, whether it a beating or what she considered the worse alternative. And even after that, it wasn't over.

Every small transgression resulted in major punishment. And that's how, a week after Lance left, Temperance ended up stuffed in the trunk of the car because a dish had slipped from her hand.

It had ended up being a good thing. Her social worker dropped by within those two days, after a call from Lance's social worker, apparently. She'd found Temperance missing, and had called in the police, who arrested the Carpenters and, within about an hour, found her, unconscious but alive in the trunk.

She'd never had another experience like the Carpenters, but she'd also never had another relationship like the one with Lance. She thought about him a lot in the years that followed. She'd wished there was some way to find out he was alright.

And now, she was starting to really and truly believe that Lance Sweets, her smug, overeager _psychologist_ was the same little boy who'd been as close to a younger brother as she'd ever get.

By the time they went to his office, when she confessed the truth about the trunk and the dishes, she'd convinced herself she was wrong and it was ridiculous.

But then, at dinner, Sweets had said something about going away with Daisy in November for his birthday. And before she had to, Booth had said, "Parker's birthday's in November. When's yours?"

"November fourteenth."

And her heart had skittered. Because she had gone to live with the Carpenters on November 13…the day was scrawled by their name on her old shoe. And Lance, Lance Bennett's, birthday had been the day after she got there.

* * * * * *

When Dr. Wyatt left, followed immediately by Dr. Sweets, Brennan stood, uncertain.

"Bones?" Booth looked up at her. He was doing a poor job of concealing the concern in his eyes. "You want to hang around for awhile? Talk a little, maybe?"

"Yes," she assured him. "But I need to ask Dr. Sweets something…I'll be right back, okay?"

Before she could change her mind, she left the apartment, taking the stairs two by two in hopes of catching him.

He was outside on the sidewalk, walking to his car. "Sweets?"

Sweets turned, looking startled. "Yes?"

Brennan hesitated, suddenly unsure of what she planned to say. She flushed slightly. "Never mind. Have a good night."

She was a couple paces away when Sweets took the chance, "You were like a superhero to me, you know."

Brennan froze, she turned back around and met his eyes.

There was no confusion in her expression, just disbelief and maybe something else he couldn't read. So Sweets continued, "I thought you were so smart. And cool and pretty…." He blushed a little. "_And _you saved me."

"Eventually," Brennan corrected in a strangled voice. "I saved you eventually. All that time I didn't do anything."

"It wasn't your fault. I…I'm sorry I got out when you didn't."

"You were _six_, Lance."

He couldn't remember the last time she'd used his first name, and suddenly his chest aches a little

Brennan continued, her eyes filling with tears. "I was older, I should've…I knew better, I knew I should've done something."

"It wasn't your fault. You got me out, and it was the perfect time…I went to my parents after that." Silence fell, and he asked hesitantly, "The trunk…that was them?"

She nodded. "They got caught, though. And I got moved. It wasn't long after."

Sweets looked down at his feet, waiting for the inevitable question.

"How long have you known?" Brennan asked finally.

"Since the beginning," he admitted in a small voice. "But I didn't know how to tell you, and I didn't think you'd remember…"

"Of course I do…you're the one who was young, I'm surprised you remember."

Sweets smiled a little. "Are you kidding? You were such a big deal at the time. You were the only thing I'd ever had that even resembled a family." Brennan's eyes widened a little, and he backtracked, "Not that, y'know…all I meant-"

"No I understand," she told him softly. "I know."

Silence enveloped them again, and they just stared at each other, Brennan as if she was seeing Sweets for the first time. After awhile, he smiled crookedly. "I still have your biology textbook."

For a moment, Brennan was uncomprehending, then she smiled in recognition. "You kept that?"

"Of course. It was my first ever birthday present. And there were all those dinosaurs."

"Do you still steal books?"

"Nah, I gave that up. Didn't hold the thrill anymore."

They laughed, and Brennan discreetly brushed her fingers under her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Sweets said after a moment.

"For what?"

He shrugged, "I'm sorry that happened to us."

Brennan looked at him, a contemplative look on her face. "I'm not."

Sweets grinned widely. "Yeah?"

She nodded. "I'm proud of you," she said awkwardly, then made a face. "Is that strange to say?"

He shook his head. "You're the first person to tell me I was smart, that I could do something with my life."

"It was pretty obvious."

"You, too."

They both nodded. Looked at each other, than away, then back.

_Fuck it_. Sweets thought, and he stepped forward and hugged her.

To his surprise, Brennan hugged back, hard.

"Thank you." he said as he pulled back.

"For what?"

He shrugged. "For my life."

Brennan nodded, then said, "Thank _you_."

"For what?"

She smiled a little, shrugging. "Just thanks."

He smiled back.

"I should go," she said. "Booth will get all alpha male and come down to search for me."

"Probably," Sweets agreed. "I'll see you Monday."

"Okay. Sweets?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you like to grab some lunch tomorrow? Catch up? Not that we haven't been in each other's company lately, obviously, but just given recent-"

"Lunch sounds good, Dr. Brennan."

She paused, then said decidedly, "Temperance."

_A/N: Sooo yeah, this would never EVER happen. They grew up in different places, etc. But whatever. I couldn't get it out of my head, and the muse was leading. Review please! This is actually my first legitimate one shot. Would love to see what you think. And don't worry B&T is coming soon._


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